CHAPTER XIX
_In which John Rieler fails to finish his great speech, and Clarence is seriously frightened._
There were, as the two boats came together, shouts and joyous criesand a quick interchange of crews. Dora was in the arms of father andmother. Laughter and tears—the tears of strong emotion—wereintermingled with incoherent sobs. Feelings were beyond the power ofhuman language.
It was then, in the midst of all this, that Master John Rieler, filledwith an enthusiasm which could no longer be bottled up, mounted the prowof the boat, of which he had that day been the happy engineer, andraising his cap aloft, bellowed at the top of his voice:
“Three cheers for——” But John did not finish this splendid sentence,and to this day no one knows for whom he intended the signal honor; for,happening to wave his cap wildly with these opening words, he lost hisbalance, and plumped into the water.
“Oh!” cried Mr. Benton, pulling off his coat.
“Stay where you are,” called the grinning Rector. “Don’t hurt Rieler’sfeelings. To go to his help would be less sensible than carrying coalsto Newcastle.”
John rose just then, and, shaking his locks, smiled graciously at thecrews of the two boats.
“We don’t want you,” said the Rector.
“Thank you, Father,” John made grateful answer, and once more sank for along, delicious dive. And thus did the youth continue to disport himselfwhile huggings were renewed and Babel continued beside him.
“But, Father,” said Will Benton, “what I can’t understand is this! Dorawas lost; after two weeks her body was recovered and she was buried inher coffin from our church.”
“You saw the coffin, Will?”
“Yes, Father.”
“But did you see Dora in it?”
“No, Father; you told us she was disfigured and bloated from being solong in the water; and you said we were not to see her.”
“Exactly. The facts are these: On one day, fourteen bodies of the floodvictims were recovered. Very soon all were identified except that of agirl dressed in a white dress with a blue sash. I went to view the body,and really couldn’t make up my mind whether it was Dora’s, or not.Everybody insisted that it must be Dora. In the meantime, your motherwas so broken-hearted by anxiety that it looked as if she would lose hermind. It occurred to me that even the recovery of the body and the HolyMass over it would set her at rest, so I took the benefit of the doubt,and allowed the corpse in white and blue to be buried as though it wereDora’s. But mind, I never said it was Dora. I allowed the others to dothat without contradicting them; and also my intention in having thatMass offered was that if Dora were alive, the Mass should go to the poorabandoned child who took her place.”
“Do you see,” said Dora, “how good our Blessed Mother is? That littlegirl because she was in blue and white got a Mass and Christian burial.”
“Hey, John Rieler,” called the Rector fifteen minutes later, “haven’tyou had enough swimming yet?”
“If it’s all the same to you, Father Rector, I’d like to swim home.”John, while disporting in the water, had taken off his shoes andthoughtfully aimed them at the head of the admiring and enviousClarence.
“It isn’t all the same to me,” responded the Rector. “Here, give me yourhand. Now suppose we start.”
And as they spun homeward, Dora told her wondering parents the tale offour months on the open road.
“And,” concluded the child, “when I think of dear Ben, who died a saint,and of Dorcas and her children, who join the Church tomorrow, and ofClarence who is going to join——”
“You bet I am,” Clarence broke in from the other boat.
“I can’t say that I am sorry.”
“To those who love God all things work together unto good,” quotedFather Keenan.
“And when I recall,” said Mr. Benton catching Dora by the arms andbeaming with joy and gratitude as he looked upon her radiant face, “howfour months ago, you were pale, anaemic, and sentenced by the doctor todeath within a few months——”
“What!” gasped Will.
“Yes; sentenced to death. The doctor said the child had no sort ofconstitution.”
“That doctor was loony,” said Rieler indignantly. “You ought to see herrun. Those fawns you read about in poetry books haven’t anything onher.”
“I should say not,” added Clarence no less indignantly. “You should haveseen her skipping up Pictured Rocks Hill. She never lost her wind, neverturned a hair, and she’s as sure-footed as a chamois.”
“All the same,” said the happy father, “the doctor was right. He was aspecialist and knew his business. He told me to keep her in the open asmuch as possible; he told me so the very day before the gypsies ran awaywith her. For four months she has lived the life the doctorprescribed—and lived it, I rather think, more abundantly than had shelived at home. Now, look at her. She is the picture of health.”
“She’s the picture of something more than health,” whispered Clarenceinto the ear of her big brother. “Do you remember those lines ofWordsworth:
“‘And beauty horn of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face’?”
“I don’t read much poetry,” admitted Will Benton.
“Well, I’ve often thought of those lines in regard to Dora, only I makethem read:
“‘And beauty born of heavenly thought Hath passed into her face.’
Good old Ben said she was an angel. If she isn’t she is, as thegentlemanly druggists say, ‘something just as good.’”
“Beware of imitations,” said John Rieler.
Whereupon to the manifest discomfort of those in the boat, John andClarence set playfully to punching each other.
“Well,” sighed Clarence, as he jumped from the boat at the Campionlanding, “now for a quiet hour before going to bed.”
“Don’t forget supper,” said John.
“I don’t; but that is a quiet affair.”
“All the same,” continued John, “I’m going to keep near you. If anythinghappens, I want to be around.”
Then came Dora with her father and mother to greet Clarence; and thechild, as she introduced him, made such comments on their short butlovely acquaintance as caused Clarence to blush to the roots of hishair.
“Remember, Clarence,” said Mr. Benton, “that our home is yours, day ornight, winter or summer, in any year, in any season. God sent you to ourlittle girl.”
“I think,” said Clarence modestly, “that it was, the other way around.God sent Dora to me. It’s made me—different. Everything I see and hearnow I see and hear from a different angle—and a better one.”
As they walked up toward the college, Clarence, ably assisted by theeager John Rieler, pointed out their path of progress toward Campion onhis first arrival. He was at pains to expatiate on John’s delicacy as tointroducing him personally to the Rector.
“It wasn’t so very wrong, anyhow,” said Rieler.
“Didn’t God send me to save Clarence from drowning?”
“Don’t reason that way,” remonstrated Will Benton, whose reputation as astudent of logic was not brilliant only because his prowess on theathletic field blinded the boys to what were in their eyes less shiningqualities, “Out of evil God draws good; he took occasion of yourbreaking the rule to save Clarence’s life.”
“I’m beginning,” said Clarence solemnly, “to lose all faith in thebright-eyed goddess of adventure. As Betsy Prigg said of Sairey Gamp’sMrs. Harris, I don’t believe there ain’t no sich a person.”
“What are you talking about now?” asked Rieler. “Who’s Betsy Prigg?Who’s Sairey Gamp? Who’s Mrs. Harris? The bright-eyed goddess has goneto your head, and placed a few bats in your belfry.”
“John Rieler,” said Clarence, “at your age you ought to be ashamed ofyourself. You ought to know your Dickens. Read Martin Chuzzlewit, andstart tonight.”
“No,” continued Clarence, “I disavow here an
d now, forever and forever,the squint-eyed goddess of adventure. I thought I was in her hands; butnow I firmly believe that all along I was in the loving hands of God.”
Father Keenan, who had preceded the party, was now seen coming down thesteps of the faculty building. He was doing his best to carry off hisIndian immobility of face, but with partial success.
“Clarence,” he cried, “come here.”
“Another adventure,” said Rieler.
Clarence turned deathly pale. Something had happened—something serious.
“Oh, Father, what is it?” he cried running to the side of the Rector.